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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319589">Break Me In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_me09/pseuds/the_me09'>the_me09</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Burn You Up [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - Far From Home (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Quentin Beck, Collars, Comeplay, Consent Issues, Dark Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Leashes, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Quentin Beck is in over his head, Restraints, Safeword Use, Top Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:42:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_me09/pseuds/the_me09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentin barely has enough time to finger himself open before Tony is hurrying them off to the club. Something is different. Tony’s more excited than usual, more hurried, like they have a deadline. It makes his stomach flip to not know what Tony has in store. </p>
<p>When they get to the club Tony doesn’t lead them to their usual table, but to a side door near the stage. Quentin’s legs feel leaden, he doesn’t notice he’s stopped until the tug on his neck. Tony looks at him confusedly, raises an eyebrow, and Quentin stumbles forward. </p>
<p>Tony can't possibly mean to put him on a stage like this?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Beck/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Burn You Up [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Break Me In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quentin barely has enough time to finger himself open before Tony is hurrying them off to the club. Something is different. Tony’s more excited than usual, more hurried, like they have a deadline. It makes his stomach flip to not know what Tony has in store. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s gotten used to the leash, used to anticipating Tony’s moves so it doesn’t tug uncomfortably on the collar, but he’s filled with dread each time Tony clips it on, knowing they’re about to go out, that people will see Quentin like this. Each time that drop of shame in his gut grows bigger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they get to the club Tony doesn’t lead them to their usual table, but to a side door near the stage. Quentin’s legs feel leaden, he doesn’t notice he’s stopped until the tug on his neck. Tony looks at him confusedly, raises an eyebrow, and Quentin stumbles forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t be serious. Quentin thinks he knows where they’re going, but he can’t wrap his mind around it, refuses to acknowledge it. There are other pairs, and even threesomes lining the hall, waiting for something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony can’t be serious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s heart beats faster, he feels like the collar is choking him, slowly tightening around his throat. When they stop there are only two couples in front of them, one in head-to-toe leather, the other with one of them leashed and collared like him. They’re backstage, he can see the deep burgundy curtains, hear the crowd on the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Quentin’s voice comes out a rasp, his mouth is so dry. Tony doesn’t turn around, doesn’t hear him. This is starting to feel like a nightmare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches out, snags the back of Tony’s suit jacket and tugs. Tony frowns, turns around to look at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind Tony the curtain opens and the couple in all leather steps out to polite applause. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh god, does Tony really intend to take him on stage? Fuck him on stage?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious,” Quentin says aloud. He’s trying to summon anger, indignation, but blind panic is starting to overtake everything else. “I’m not going out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony raises an eyebrow. “I’m the one who decides what you do and do not do. You should know that by now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shakes his head. He can’t catch his breath. This can’t be real, he’s lying in bed, having a nightmare, and soon he’ll wake up. Maybe he dozed off after work, and now he’s late to Tony’s - which would mean punishment - or maybe, maybe he fell asleep after whatever scene Tony put him through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quentin?” Tony frowns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snap to Tony’s. “I can’t,” Quentin breathes out. It seems like once the words are out, they keep tumbling out. “I can’t, Tony, please, I can’t go out there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony smiles benevolently. “What do you mean you can’t?” He steps closer to Quentin, covering him from the view of others. “I didn’t think you got stage fright.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s not- it’s not stage fright, Tony I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Quentin snakes his hand under Tony’s jacket, curling it in his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, you’ll do fine,” Tony says waving his hand. “Just be good for me and I’ll take care of everything.” Tony wraps his fingers around Quentin’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People will </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If he goes out there everyone will see him as Tony’s plaything, Tony’s fuck toy. He’ll never be anything more in their minds, no matter what breakthroughs he might have, or what he might do. Quentin shakes his head frantically, panic making him stupid. He feels like an animal, trapped, backed into a corner, unable to flee. He swallows, he just has to make Tony understand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The couple in front of them steps out from behind the curtain and Tony guides him closer. They’re next, the curtain will open and he’ll be expected to prance on stage like a show pony and then be put through his paces. People he knows are out there, giants of his industry. If he ever were to leave Stark Industries would he even be able to find another job? They’d see him as Tony’s still, or as Tony’s sloppy seconds, and they wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going out there,” Quentin says, his voice breaking. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m not- I can’t do this, Tony. It’s too much.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were in drama clubs in college, and you’ve presented at conferences to hundreds. There aren’t even a hundred people out there,” Tony says, exasperated. “Nerves are normal, baby. You’ll do great.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shakes his head again. He’s not going out there. He’ll drop to the floor and refuse to move, or he’ll fake sick, pretend he’s going to throw up. All those options are less humiliating than stepping onto that stage and letting people see what Tony does to him. His knees feel shaky. There has to be some way to stop Tony, something he’s overlooking. Begging hasn’t worked, he doesn’t have time to bargain, what is he missing? What would stop Tony?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Red</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Quentin breathes out, eyes wide. “Red, Tony, I call red,” he keeps repeating it, feeling out of control, terrified it won’t work. He’s never safeworded before, doesn’t know what Tony will do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony frowns, eyebrows drawing down. “Seriously?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Red, please,” Quentin says, hating how pathetic he sounds, how helpless he feels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony looks at him for a long moment, and Quentin’s stomach drops. He’s not going to respect the safeword, he’s going to force Quentin onto stage. Tony steps away, toward the curtain, and Quentin can’t help the whimper that tears itself from his throat, the way he clutches at Tony, trying to pull him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony gives him a dark look and Quentin jerks his hands away. This is a nightmare. Tony steps up to someone with a clipboard, a stage manager probably. She nods and waves a hand, says something on her headset. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The curtain opens, Quentin flinches back, bumping into Tony’s chest. Tony’s arms come up, circle around him. To some it could be comforting, but his grip feels inescapable, trapping. Quentin starts to struggle only for Tony to tighten his grip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The curtain parts, the couple who was in front of them walks off stage. The leashed man’s face is covered in come and he has a dazed look that Quentin recognizes. Oh God, Tony’s going to make him do this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you calm down?” Tony snaps, and he’s tugging Quentin… away? Back from the curtain? The people next to them in line step out to rowdy applause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin tips his head back, refusing to cry. Relief comes in small incredulous waves. He sags against Tony, trying to find his footing. The further they get from the curtain the more Quentin’s panic recedes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony drags him into a small dressing room with a chaise lounge on one wall, and a brightly lit vanity on the other. He locks the door behind them and guides Quentin onto the chaise. Quentin sits heavily, resting his elbows on his knees. He takes deep breaths and buries his face in his hands. He wants to laugh with relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna tell me what that was?” Tony asks, crossing his arms. “Did you really think I’d ignore a safeword?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know? I’ve never- I’d never done it before,” Quentin says defensively. “I didn’t know what you’d do. Are you going to punish me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Tony says cooly. He stares at Quentin, waiting for something. Is he waiting for an apology? Because he’s not going to get one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin stares right back. “What then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends on you,” Tony says. “I told the stage manager to bump us back in line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Panic rushes him again and Quentin snaps his jaw shut. “I’m not going out there,” he snarls. “I used the safeword!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony narrows his eyes. “I’m aware, which is why we are in here, and not on stage right now. So what is your hold-up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shakes his head. What if Tony deems his reasoning stupid and forces him on stage anyway. Would Tony punish him for using the safeword? Would Tony punish me for refusing to go along with something? There’s no way he’s going out there, he’ll fight tooth and nail, he’ll show them he doesn’t want this. Quentin’s stomach flips, he feels constricted, reaches up to tug at his collar. Every now and then he imagines it’s gotten tighter, that Tony’s slowly constricting it until Quentin’s choking, breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like that now, like the collar is tighter, he can’t swallow, can barely breathe. Tony just watches him, waiting, arms crossed with the leash tucked under his arm. Quentin has to stand his ground on this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quentin,” Tony says, cajoling. “Come on, you can tell me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll see,” Quentin says, feels like the words are pulled from him. “They’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He looks up at Tony willing him to understand without Quentin having to spell it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony frowns. “See what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin closes his eyes. “They’ll see me as yours and nothing more.” He takes a deep breath. “Those are people whose respect I need in this industry, and next time I’m at a conference, or presenting a breakthrough, all they’ll see is me, naked, on your cock. That’s all they’ll be picturing, and my ideas will mean nothing, and my intelligence and research will mean nothing because I’ll just be Tony’s cockslut, or whatever else you’d call me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something else Quentin could say, another tactic he could use to convince Tony. But if Tony’s going to ignore his safeword and his valid reasons, he wants to know. He doesn’t want to be left wondering if Tony only listened to him because Quentin appealed to his possessiveness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t understand how this works, do you?” Tony shakes his head. He sits on the chaise next to Quentin. “They want you more because you’re mine. They know that your ideas should all be mine. I don’t fuck idiots. The last submissive I debuted here now owns their own tech company.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin frowns. How could that possibly be true? They’ll want him more because they want to steal him from Tony? Maybe, but he doesn’t want them to think- to think this is what he’s really good for. That if they fund his ideas they can fuck him too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of these days, I’m going to step away for whatever reason, and one of them is going to approach you. They’ll offer you a boatload of money, or a new position, or a private jet, in order to give them one of your ideas, or to have you come work for them. I’ve lost a few subs that way, breach of contract.” Tony shrugs. He plays with the end of Quentin’s leash, looking toward the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goddamit he is not going to feel sorry for Tony, especially not if his other subs were as hesitant or new as Quentin. He’d never expected this, hadn’t really thought through what that contract meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean I want them to watch me get fucked by you,” Quentin says, crossing his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ve already seen it,” Tony says, exasperated. “I’ve fucked you at the table. They’ve seen what a cockslut you are.” Quentin shivers, heat flooding his cheeks. Tony says it so casually, like it’s a fact of Quentin’s being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s different,” he says, quieter. “That’s not on a stage, under bright lights, with you calling me names that they can hear.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony rolls his eyes. “Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, Tony, it’s different.” He shouldn’t have to defend himself like this. Tony should just take his word and move on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tony says with a put upon sigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin sits up straighter. “Alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony throws his hands up. “Yes, alright, you safeworded! I’m not going to force you, jeez.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin won’t be able to truly relax until they’re out of this stupid club. He watches as Tony calls for the car, the way he paces the room until Happy’s ready. Why does he want to say something else? The words are on the tip of his tongue when Tony tugs gently on the leash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin stands obediently and follows Tony, his gut sinking as they go the way to the stage. Was it all a trick, a lie? Was Tony just telling him what he wants to hear? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony steps up to the stage manager, says a few words, gestures at Quentin. He hates not knowing what Tony is saying about him, but the sounds of the crowd have exploded and he’s standing a bit further away, trying not to get too close to the curtain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Tony says, walking past Quentin and leading him out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night air is a shock after the warmth of the club, it wakes Quentin up, makes him shiver. Tony opens the car door for him, and Quentin slides inside. The divider is already up, so he doesn’t have to put up with Happy giving him strange looks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony leans against the door, cheek resting on his hand. It kind of feels like he’s ignoring Quentin. Is this his punishment? He wants to press against Tony, make him pay attention, but who knows what that would lead to. Besides, he shouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels oddly grateful. There’s no reason for him to justify himself further, no reason to thank Tony. He was doing what any good dom would, or should, but Quentin still feels like he should give Tony something else. Tony was so excited earlier, and now… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides,” Quentin says, like they were still having a conversation. “Shouldn’t those things you wanted to do on stage stay between us? If they’re going to try and steal me away, why give them more reason, why make them see what they’re missing out on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony turns his head,  the corner of his mouth curving up. “You’ve got a point there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin slides closer to Tony. He shouldn’t do this, he’s just won something in this push-pull they have. He’s taken back a shred of his agency. He should be proud, should be smug, he should be pleased. There’s something else tugging at him, making him sidle up to Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony raises an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there something I can do to make this up to you?” Quentin asks, looking at Tony from under his lashes. He slides a hand over Tony’s thigh, squeezing the muscle. Tony grins, leans into him, runs his hand up the leash to play with the collar. A tug low in Quentin’s gut makes him shiver. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you turning sweet for me?” Tony asks, teasing, pressing the collar against Quentin’s adam’s apple. “You know I like that stubbornness too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin rolls his eyes. “I’m not sweet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony tugs Quentin in by the collar and kisses him slow and sultry, tongue sliding into Quentin’s mouth. Their lips slip against each other, languid, steamy, Tony pulls back just enough for Quentin to feel his breath over his lips, and then he’s on Tony again. Quentin feels like the car windows should be fogging. The air between him and Tony is charged and hot. Quentin breathes out shakily when Tony leans back. Jesus, it’s not fair for a person to kiss like that. This is how Quentin got roped into this whole collar mess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re being sweet right now,” Tony says with a smirk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin opens his mouth to argue, but Tony reels him in for another mind-blowing kiss. He slides his hand from Tony’s thigh to his crotch, teasing over the bulge in his pants. Fuck, if it were up to him he’d have Tony in his mouth right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you better take advantage of it,” Quentin says, challenging, tugging on Tony’s lower lip with his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony hums, leans back against the door to look at him. Quentin realizes he seems desperate for it, needy, pulls his hand away, hoping the heat in his cheeks doesn’t give him away. The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>cockslut</span>
  </em>
  <span> rings in his head. Tony eyes him up and down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your record number of orgasms with me?” Tony asks, musing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin thinks back  through their time together. Has it really been seven months? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I think… three?” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony looks surprised. “Really? Only three?” He rubs a hand over his goatee. “I guess I do a lot more orgasm denial with you.” Tony slants a look at him. “Let’s try to break that record, hmm?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows, those three times had been enough, he can’t imagine coming more than that in one night. He opens his mouth to protest, to say that’s ridiculous... but he did want to give Tony something. Why does he feel so grateful? Is it the return to safety, to a dark windowed car, to just the two of them that has Quentin feeling so willing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many times are you going to make me come?” Quentin asks, trying to get an idea of what he’s in for tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony taps his own lip, grinning. “Not sure,” he reaches out to run his thumb over Quentin’s lips. “Why don’t we bet on how many times I can get you to come?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bet?” Quentin darts his tongue out to lick at Tony’s thumb. There’s a lot of calculation involved in betting with Tony. He’s not the one in charge, so he has to think through the strategy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I bet I can get you to come five times,” Tony says, wiping his wet finger on Quentin’s cheek. Ugh, Quentin jerks back from the cold wet feeling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Quentin bets six he could tempt Tony into proving him right, but Tony likes to win just as much as Quentin. He could just stop trying to get Quentin off after five. If he bets on four though, in order to win he’d have to hold out against whatever Tony does to him. Would Tony stop though, or would Tony push until he got his way, got five orgasms out of Quentin? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do I get if I win?” Quentin asks. He’s gotten pretty good at not coming until he’s told he can, so maybe he could hold out, not give Tony a fifth orgasm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony raises an eyebrow, leans closer. “What do you want?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Funding is the first thing that pops into Quentin’s mind. But from all their little games, bets, and rewards he has enough funding for his next six projects, and no time to work on them yet. Even without this weird sex thing, Tony has thrown money at almost any project he suggested. What does he really want if he wins?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I win this bet, you never take me to that club again,” Quentin says, leaving some wiggle room. Tony’s sure to be a member of multiple clubs like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s mouth curves down into an exaggerated pout. “I thought you liked the club.” Quentin just stares at Tony, waiting for him to agree. Tony huffs and nods. “Alright, so what do I get if I win?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin smirks, presses closer, their mouths a breath away. “What do you want?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony kisses him first, quick and biting, but still so good. Quentin feels too warm in the enclosed space of the car, his cheeks hot, his breathing a little too quick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I win, I get to have you on a stage,” Tony says, his voice low and dark. “I get to show everyone what a good fuck you are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin hates the way his skin heats at that, hates the way his cock twitches, hates the shiver that works its way up his spine. He swallows, meeting Tony’s intense gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in front of people we know,” Quentin says, and he hates that too, the way his voice sounds breathy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s gaze softens just a little. “Not in front of people we know,” Tony agrees. “So, what number are you betting on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I come more, or less, than our bets?” Quentin asks. He needs all the facts before he places his final bet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a wash, only if we stop on exactly the right number,” Tony says. He leans back against the door, looking at Quentin with a grin, with that possessive glint. “You don’t have to take the bet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you I’ll only come four times,” Quentin says, his mouth dry. Tony smirks like that’s the answer he expected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the tower, Tony unhooks the leash, and it’s like Quentin can breathe again. He rubs the base of his throat, rubs under the collar, making sure there’s still a little space between his skin and the warm metal. Tony watches him with a look that says he’s just waiting to pounce. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin used to think Tony didn’t notice anything around him, that he was self-absorbed, totally uninterested in other people, but now he thinks that’s just an act - part of it, at least - because Tony sees more than Quentin would ever have given him credit for. He knows just how to get under Quentin’s skin, just what to say, or do, to make Quentin give in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go undress and lay on the bed, on your back,” Tony says, waving a hand. “I have to grab a few things.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s another thing Quentin underestimated; Tony sounds casual, acts like he’s not giving an order, but if Quentin were to deviate, to hang around in the kitchen, or sit on the edge of the bed instead of laying down, then Tony would turn cold, maybe even punish him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin does as Tony says, lying on his back, naked, cock embarrassingly hard. What did Tony have to go grab? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t have to wait long, is just getting too cold, is just thinking about moving when Tony enters the room with his hands full. Quentin blinks at him, at the gold in his hands and doesn’t comprehend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wrists,” Tony says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin balls his hands into fists. “Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony arches an eyebrow. “Give me your wrists,” he says, each word firm and clipped. Tony’s dark eyes bore into him until Quentin offers up his wrists. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony locks gold cuffs around them. That deep belly shiver is back, that hot-cold feeling Quentin has almost come to hate because it’s a sign of weakness. He swallows as Tony stretches his arms up. The cuffs clink against each other as Tony ties them together with a nylon rope, tying him to the headboard. Quentin shudders, his cock dripping precome onto his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t seem like it’ll take that long to get to orgasm one,” Tony says with a grin. He trails a finger down Quentin’s chest, down his stomach, stopping just short of his cock. Quentin grits his teeth. Tony likes to tease him, and it seems like there will be a lot of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this mean I can come whenever?” Quentin asks, and then hates that he said anything. Fuck, Tony was right, he is getting too good at this, maybe he is sweet tonight. What does that even mean?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony leans over and licks at one of Quentin’s nipples. He sucks in a breath, jerking slightly in his restraints. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you come as many times as you want,” Tony says. He dips down and licks Quentin’s other nipple, biting at it and tugging with his teeth. Quentin hisses, digging his heels into the bed, pushing himself up so his arms aren’t quite as stretched, and so he can push away from Tony’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Tony’s mouth follows him, licking, biting, sucking marks on his chest, up to his neck. Tony sucks a bruise on the hollow of Quentin’s throat, his nose bumping the collar out of the way, and Quentin pants, struggling under the torture of Tony’s lips. Finally, Tony kisses up his neck, his jaw, finds Quentin’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The noise Quentin makes is embarrassing, a whine escapes the back of his throat, and he kisses Tony desperately. Something happens when Tony gets him like this, and Quentin hasn’t quite figured out how to combat it, how to make that hot all over feeling go away. Tony trails a hand over his hip, down his thigh, fingers brushing over his skin everywhere except where he wants them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Quentin groans, rolling his hips. Fuck, how is he going to survive four orgasms like this? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Tony leans up, mouth red. He’s smirking, the bastard. “Should I let you come this quickly? We’ve just gotten started?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Tony’s mouth on his is a shock, but he opens up, letting Tony kiss him until he’s dizzy. Then Tony’s hand wraps around his cock and Quentin’s whole body jerks up into that fist. He groans into Tony’s mouth, fucking his fist hard and fast, trying to get off as quick as possible. Tony lets it go on for a moment before pulling away entirely, watching Quentin keep fucking up into the empty air, unable to stop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, come on,” Quentin growls, hips circling. He hits a certain point of horny where he can’t stop moving, it’s gotten him in trouble with Tony before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should pace yourself,” Tony says, smirking at him. “It’s going to be a long night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or I should come as many times as I can while I’m allowed,” Quentin says. Fuck, he wishes he could touch himself. He tugs on his bindings, hands crossed uselessly above his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin can feel his face getting hot the longer Tony just watches him squirming and rocking his hips. It makes his stomach clench with a mix of shame and lust. He wants Tony to watch him, wants Tony to be in awe of him, but this wasn’t exactly what he pictured in grad school when he got the offer to work for Stark Industries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t stop, can you,” Tony says, his voice low, teasing. “So desperate… you really are a slut for it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s face burns and he tries to stop moving his hips, trembling, but he is desperate for touch, desperate for something to help him get off. He’s been hard since the car and now with Tony’s full attention, how could he not be? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh please, don’t stop on my account,” Tony says. He settles himself between Quentin’s legs, still fully dressed, arranging Quentin so his thighs rest on Tony’s, legs bent lazily around Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He uses the leverage Tony’s thighs give him to rock his hips up further, his cock bouncing in the air, bobbing against his stomach, and even that little touch sends jolts through him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could watch you all night,” Tony says casually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, no, he needs to be touched, he wants to get off so bad. “How would you win your bet then?” Quentin says, breathier than he intended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony hums. “You’re probably right, I can watch you work yourself up another time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s so good it’s almost painful when Tony finally wraps his hand around the base of Quentin’s cock. Tony keeps his fist tight, sliding it up to squeeze the head, and that hurts, that makes Quentin let out a whimper that he fights, but ultimately fails to swallow back. Tony just keeps pumping, slow and even and so fucking tight. Quentin bucks his hips, fucks into Tony’s hand faster, but it doesn’t seem to affect Tony’s pace in the least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s close, he can feel the pressure building in his spine, the tightness in his balls, he starts fucking Tony’s fist desperately, faster, moaning each time his balls hit Tony’s hand. He expects Tony to let go any second, to make him suffer on the edge. Instead, Tony grins and squeezes tighter, moves his hand faster until Quentin can’t catch a breath, until he hurtles over the edge of orgasm, shooting all over his stomach, up to his chest, pumping his hips into that perfect tight fist. Stars dance at the edges of his vision. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is why he signed that fucking contract. This is why he thought it would just be some fun sex; because a handjob has no right to be that good. Tony is continually blowing his mind. He didn’t expect the collar, the orders, the humiliation that has followed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin pants, coming down slowly, Tony’s hand still on his softening dick, loose and warm. He twitches, looks down at Tony, waiting for the other shoe to drop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you pretty,” Tony says, voice honeyed, eyes dark. Quentin doesn’t trust that sweetness for a second. His cheeks heat anyway. “You’re going to make such a mess of yourself.” Tony sounds pleased about that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows, unsure what to do now that he’s come. He doesn’t usually get to come multiple times, so this is… awkward. Tony just stares at him, gaze hot and possessive, like Quentin is some prized beast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony slides his hands up and down Quentin’s thighs, trails his fingers over Quentin’s hips, so light it almost tickles, makes Quentin squirm, tugging on the rope tying his arms up. God, why is Tony looking at him like that? His breath hitches when Tony flicks one nipple, and then his hand is at Quentin’s throat, still light, but unmistakably controlling. There’s a ball of shame in his stomach, growing each moment as his cock twitches, body reacting in ways he doesn’t understand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin licks his lips, plans to say something, but then Tony’s thumb skims over his lower lip. He parts his lips, sets his teeth against Tony’s thumb, threatening to bite. Tony just shoves his thumb further into Quentin’s mouth, hooks it in his cheek, pulling his mouth open. Quentin tries to swallow with his mouth open, but he can’t get all of it, drool pooling under his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to close his mouth, suck on Tony’s thumb to swallow properly. Tony grins, pulls his thumb out with a pop, and then pushes two fingers in, pressing down on Quentin’s tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, your mouth,” Tony says in awe. “Gets you into trouble, doesn’t it? Maybe I should gag you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin tries to talk, to say no, he doesn’t need a gag, but it comes out gargled around Tony’s fingers. They’re salty, rough on his tongue. He glares at Tony, but it does nothing. Tony strokes his tongue, shoves his two fingers deeper until Quentin gags, tries to pull his head away, but Tony won’t let him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suck for me,” Tony says, the corner of his mouth curled up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin closes his eyes and sucks, swirling his tongue around Tony’s fingers. The better he is, the wetter he gets Tony’s fingers the sooner this is over. Except tonight, Tony seems to enjoy feeling around Quentin’s mouth, stretching his lips with a third finger, making it so that Quentin can’t get good suction, can’t swallow. Saliva pools and spills over his lips. He makes an unhappy noise, tenses his jaw, teeth scraping Tony’s fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t test me,” Tony says, pressing his fingers against Quentin’s teeth, daring him to bite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin narrows his eyes, biting lightly. He has the upper hand, Tony’s fingers are in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>mouth. Tony huffs a laugh and grabs under Quentin’s chin, digging his fingers into Quentin’s cheeks until the muscles loosen, until he’s forced to open wider to make it stop hurting. He refuses to give Tony the satisfaction of making any noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony pulls his fingers out, trailing spit down Quentin’s chest. Disgusting. He curls his lip. “And this is supposed to get me hot, how? At this rate I’ll only come once tonight,” Quentin says, annoyed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have so little faith in me?” Tony says, mock hurt. One wet finger trails over Quentin’s hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin knows well enough not to answer that. He squirms slightly, tugging on his arms, fuck, that part is hot, his arms stretched above his head, useless. All the while, Tony’s fingers are brushing over his hole, one just barely slipping in while Tony spreads his ass with his other hand. His breath hitches when Tony pushes his finger in fully; it burns. He grits his teeth, trying to stay relaxed, but his thighs are tensed around Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This he doesn’t care for; the burn and tug, the hot, rough feeling of a second finger breaching him without enough spit. Maybe it does make him a slut, but he likes when everything is wet, slippery, when Tony can just fuck into him easily. He’d prepped himself a few hours ago, but he hadn’t been thorough, rushed to get to the club. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony pulls his fingers free and moves as if he’s going to shove them in Quentin’s mouth again. He turns his head, struggling away in shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s disgusting, don’t put them back in my mouth, get some fucking lube,” Quentin says, tugging himself up on the bed, away from Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony just laughs. “C’mon, it’s not that gross. You’re clean for me. Besides, haven’t you ever eaten ass?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God no,” Quentin says, and realizes as soon as he’s said it that he never should have admitted that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s face lights up with delight. “Oh baby, we are going to have fun with that.” He grabs Quentin by the ankles and tugs him right back down, arms stretched out above his head. The movement makes Quentin’s belly swoop in that worryingly delightful way. Tony looms over him, shoves his fingers into Quentin’s mouth, makes him gag, holds his mouth open until drool is sliding down the side of his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cheeks are hot with shame and embarrassment. Quentin put himself in this situation, continues to put himself in this situation where he’s just Tony’s plaything. He squeezes his eyes shut, relieved when Tony’s fingers move from his mouth back to his ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony takes his time with him, using one finger to fuck him until he’s looser, then pushes in a second, tilting his hips up. Quentin didn’t even notice his cock filling until it bumps against his stomach and a jolt of pleasure makes him twitch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A third finger makes him whine, now that he’s looser, now that he’s hard. Quentin keeps his eyes shut, but he hears the snick of a cap and then cold lube dripping over Tony’s fingers. He rocks his hips with Tony’s rhythm, his breath getting shallower. Then Tony brushes his prostate and it’s like fireworks go off in his spine, his hips jerk, and he lets out a loud moan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like to be stretched open, don’t you?” Tony says conversationally. He gets a hand under Quentin’s ass, tilting his hips up further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s eyes fly open when Tony pours lube right into him, it’s cold and slick, sliding inside him, and then Tony’s hot fingers, fucking him faster, harder, pressing on his prostate. He bucks in Tony’s grip, thighs and stomach flexing, squirming, and it’s probably going to come back to bite him how he loses himself in the feel of Tony finger-fucking him. A whimper escapes as his cock bobs free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” he moans. Fuck, he needs some friction on his dick, just something to rut against, anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Tony grins, smug and condescending. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t the goal to make me come?” Quentin says, panting for breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a sense,” Tony says, fingers curling inside him. Quentin shudders, pulling his legs up tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell does that mean?” Quentin glares at Tony, biting his lip to keep in another desperate noise. It’s bad enough he can’t stop squirming and rocking his hips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you can come without being touched? Think you can come just from this?” Tony’s eyes narrow, and his fingers stroke over Quentin’s prostate. His belly quivers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would take a lot,” Quentin says, breathing deeply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony rubs his prostate, drawing a groan out of Quentin’s throat. He circles his hips, trying to get more friction always. It would be so much better if Tony would just wrap a hand around his cock, let him fuck into Tony’s tight, slick fist. Quentin whimpers at the thought, the pressure on his prostate almost burns; it's too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you come just from this, I’ll give you a reward,” Tony says, voice low, teasing. “What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin can’t think past the fingers in his ass, past the endless pressure and stimulation. “Funding,” it’s the first thing that comes to him, so he blurts it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah-ah, how about something not related to work,” Tony says with a laugh. “It’s always funding for this, funding for that, don’t you have a hobby?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin wraps his hands around the nylon tying his wrists, panting. He can’t let Tony get under his skin like this, can’t let his voice worm into Quentin’s mind the way it sometimes does. Tony thrusts his fingers in and out, and suddenly there’s more stretch, how has he added another finger? A tingling starts in his fingers and toes. Quentin looks down and it seems like Tony has four fingers inside him. Just the thought makes him clench and shiver. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, a raise?” Quentin says, his voice breathier than before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still work related,” Tony chides. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s infuriating that Tony seems unaffected, still clothed, still in control with four fingers in Quentin’s ass. But that’s a passing thought because the tingling has spread up his legs, and with that realization the bottom drops out of Quentin’s stomach, panic rising. This is the feeling he gets whenever he’s overwhelmed, the feeling right before he drops over the edge into another state that he can’t quite understand, where he’s not himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A vacation?” Quentin blurts out, arching his back, pushing himself further down on Tony’s fingers. The tingling has spread down his arms, to the back of his neck, his vision narrowing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still feels work adjacent.” Tony hums thoughtfully. “A vacation might be nice. Having you all to myself, showing you off in a new locale.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, Tony, just let me come already!” Quentin moans, low in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing’s stopping you, baby,” Tony says with a smirk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin presses his head back into the pillows, his hearing is getting funny the way it does sometimes when he’s tingling like this. He squirms on Tony’s fingers, spreading his legs wider. Suddenly he’s empty, gaping, nothing in him, no hands on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t have you going under too soon,” Tony says, amused. “I swear, it’s getting easier and easier to send you down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pinch to his thigh, and the tingling recedes; Quentin’s left lucid, firmly in his body, that weird drugged state slipping from his grasp. Tony just watches him, eyes hungry. There’s a pit in Quentin’s stomach again, a mix of shame and embarrassment, that he can be controlled so easily, that he’s at Tony’s mercy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where would you like to go?” Tony asks, walking his fingers up Quentin’s thighs, up toward his cock and then gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s difficult to focus on anything that’s not getting off. Right now the only place Quentin wants to go is pound town, but if he said that Tony would laugh at him. Shit, he hopes Tony plans to fuck him tonight and not just toy with him. The thought of Tony fucking into him, sliding into his loose, slick hole, makes his cock throb. It’ll be so easy for Tony to slip right in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pinch to his nipple makes Quentin gasp and blink, brings him back to this moment where he’s so fucking empty it’s almost an ache. He plants his heels in the bed and lifts his hips, offering himself up to Tony without a thought, it’s only as he does it the echo of </span>
  <em>
    <span>cockslut </span>
  </em>
  <span>comes back to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked you a question, Quentin,” Tony says, voice getting darker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Oh- uh,” Quentin bites his lip, trying to think. The sooner he answers, the sooner he gets something inside him again. “Italy maybe? Morocco… or Spain?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony snorts. “Two of those are countries and one’s a city. Can’t narrow it down further?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, I’m trying to get off here, not play name the city,” Quentin snaps. He’s so tired of Tony’s games. Bet on this, do that, do it well enough and I’ll give you things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So impatient without a cock in you,” Tony says, shaking his head. “That’s not the way to get it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin glares and snaps his mouth shut. If Tony’s saying what he thinks Tony’s saying, then he might not come again tonight and then they both lose the bet. Which is just fine with him. As much as he’d love to never have to go to that club again, it doesn’t change the contract he signed or the collar around his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to ask nicely, otherwise I won’t touch you at all,” Tony says teasingly, but he moves away, out of reach of Quentin’s legs, so no part of them will even brush against each other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shivers, feeling colder, naked and tied up, finds that he can’t quite stop shivering. He arches his back, pressing his hips and shoulders into the bed, but that just makes his ass ache, he’s still stretched so open, gaping he’s sure. He’s sticky, and drool is drying on his cheeks. The strangest urge to cry burns the corners of his eyes, but there’s no fucking way he’s going to cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s serious though, because no matter how much Quentin tries to tempt Tony back; spreads his legs, rocks his hips, moaning like a whore, none of it works. His shoulders are starting to ache. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Quentin says expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ask nicely.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows. “Please?” The pit in his stomach grows, but the tingling in his fingers is back. Is his circulation being cut off?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please what?” Tony says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please touch me,” Quentin says, quieter, shivers working their way through him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t so hard,” Tony says, warm, condescending. But he’s back between Quentin’s legs, without a shirt this time, but fat lot of good it does Quentin because he can’t touch anyway, can’t run his fingers over the scar on Tony’s chest, can’t squeeze his fairly impressive biceps, or hold onto his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out an embarrassingly loud and relieved moan when Tony shoves four fingers in him again. Quentin is gasping in no time, fucking himself down on Tony’s fingers, whining as Tony wiggles them inside him. Fuck, it’s so weird and so hot to feel each finger moving in him, and then all four are pressing against his prostate, and he arches up off the bed, gritting his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, what do you need to come?” Tony says, pushing Quentin’s thighs further apart so he’s splayed out on the bed. He’s half out of his mind with the need to come, but he wants friction on his actual cock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, I don’t know,” Quentin moans, jerking against his bindings. “I don’t know, just fucking touch my cock, I don’t care.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I care,” Tony says. “I want to see you come just from this.” Tony eyes him up and down, and he feels even more naked than before, somehow. “I know what you need.” That tone of voice makes Quentin’s body clench up; he’s sure Tony can feel it around his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you’d be happy if I shoved my whole fist in you. I’ve already got half my hand inside you, can you feel it? Feel my knuckles at your hole, the palm of my hand is next, all I’d have to do is tuck my thumb in, you’re so fucking loose,” Tony says, his voice getting low and dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shudders, shakes his head. His thoughts scatter, his mind conjuring the image of himself spread open, ass clenching up around Tony’s wrist. It’s getting harder to tell if the pit in his stomach is from desire or horror. He squirms, pushing his heels into the bed, but Tony pins his hips with one hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it, baby, you just wanted to hear me tell you what a slut you are,” Tony says, smirking, triumphant. “You’re such a good little slut, bet you’d take my fist so well.” Quentin’s balls draw up tight, and the next stroke to his prostate has his cock dribbling onto his stomach. Fuck, he’s so close now, can feel his orgasm barreling down upon him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, should I even bother fucking you?” Tony says, his voice edging into awe. Quentin blinks at him, dazed, watching Tony staring at his fingers disappearing inside Quentin. “You’ll be so loose and open, will you even feel my cock after this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That sends Quentin over the edge into a toe curling orgasm. His hips jerk of their own accord and his whole body seems to spasm, his vision whiting out briefly. When the room comes back into focus, Tony’s looming over him, grinning wide and smug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like you’re getting a vacation, we can talk out the details later,” he says. “Fuck, you’re so good for me.” Tony kisses him, hot and demanding, making Quentin shiver. He tries to move his hands to Tony's shoulders, the clanking of his cuffs reminds him he can’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin whimpers, the tingling is back, and it’s almost a relief this time. He kisses back, but Tony dominates his mouth. Jesus Christ, he needs time for a breath, a break, something because he feels himself sinking into that overwhelmed state. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smack of Tony’s hand against his thigh startles Quentin back up, gasping for breath. Tony shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to get into subspace so bad tonight,” Tony says, amused. “Not quite yet. As much as I love how sweet you get, you’re being pretty sweet outside it, where’s that stubbornness?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t hit four orgasms yet, you’ll see it then,” Quentin says, his mouth moving before his brain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony laughs, grin turning wicked. “Guess we should get started on orgasm three then.” Tony sits back on his heels, eyes roving over Quentin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As his afterglow fades, Quentin’s left with that sick shameful feeling again. His cheeks get hot as Tony just looks at him. God, he’s a fucking mess, come all over him, his ass still aching and sticky with lube, all stretched out for Tony. He wants to curl into a ball. This isn’t him, this isn’t right, he doesn’t like being under Tony’s control like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, when Tony offered him anything, why didn’t he ask for the collar to come off? He could have asked to get out of the contract, or to be untied, and instead- instead he wanted more time with Tony? What the hell is wrong with his brain?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Our options are just so plentiful,” Tony sighs, running a hand over Quentin’s ribs. He wiggles, stifling a laugh. He’s ticklish there, and Tony knows it. “I think maybe it’s my turn to come once, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not the one we’re betting on, you can come whenever you want,” Quentin says, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I like saving my come for when I can finish inside you,” Tony says. He climbs off the bed and finally takes the rest of his clothes off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hates it, but even though he just came he wants Tony to fuck him. It makes his shame grow, how much he likes it, how desperate he is, every goddamn time, but he can’t control it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony gets back into bed, but instead of getting between Quentin’s legs, he straddles Quentin’s chest. His breath catches, Tony’s cock is right in front of his face, balls hot resting on his sternum. Quentin swallows and feels the constriction of his collar. His mouth waters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll give your ass a break for now,” Tony says. His cock is thick, the veins standing out he’s so hard. Quentin can smell the musky scent coming from Tony, the salty tinge of precome. Quentin licks his lips, doesn’t realize he’s done it until Tony laughs. “Are you hungry for my cock?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin could lie, but would Tony think up some punishment? He can’t think straight with the smell of sex in the air and his body already exhausted from two orgasms. Should he bother lying when it’s painfully obvious how badly he wants Tony’s cock in his mouth? It’s not shameful to like giving blowjobs, he’s always liked this part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Quentin breathes out, looking at Tony from under his lashes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony groans and fists his cock, but it’s not close enough for Quentin to get his lips around. “Fuck, you know how to use those eyes to your advantage.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s feels the blush start at his neck, hot and fast, and climb into his cheeks. His breath hitches as Tony shuffles forward, his knees on either side of Quentin’s armpits, pressed close to him, and then the head of Tony’s cock is brushing his lips. He opens obediently, darting his tongue out to taste Tony. Finally, he gets to do something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or he thought he’d get to do something, but Tony rocks his hips, just barely feeding the tip into Quentin’s mouth. He closes his lips around it, swirling his tongue around the head, and sucking him like a lollipop. Tony pulls out with a pop and Quentin has to swallow back a whine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at you,” Tony says, pleased. “So fucking desperate for my cock. This is what I want people to see, this is what I want to show off.” He slides his thumb into Quentin’s mouth, pressing it against Quentin’s bottom teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sucks on Tony’s thumb, and even though the shame in his stomach will soon become big enough to swallow him, he can’t help being desperate, just like Tony says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re being so good tonight,” Tony says with a little surprise. Quentin’s not sure what he means, but he sucks harder on Tony’s thumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony pulls his thumb away, and it leaves Quentin’s mouth feeling empty, unoccupied. He’s so empty, too empty. Tony has torn him open and scraped away all the things Quentin thought of himself, left him hollow, and hasn’t put anything back inside him. He’s just a shell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, please,” Quentin says. He doesn’t need to be prompted. The tingling is back in his arms and legs, moving inward, the back of his neck prickles too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony runs his fingers through Quentin’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “Since you asked so nicely,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tony puts his cock in Quentin’s mouth. It’s hot and salty against his tongue, stretching his lips. He doesn’t have much time to tongue at Tony before Tony’s rocking his hips. Quentin bobs his head as much as he can, but Tony just wants to use him. His hearing goes funny again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin keeps his lips tight around Tony and moans as his cockhead bumps the back of his throat. Tony swears and thrusts further. It’s so fucking hot; the world has narrowed to just him and Tony, nothing matters but the cock in his mouth, the stretched puffy feeling of his lips, and the taste of Tony on his tongue. Quentin gags on the next thrust, his whole body jerking in surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop, keeps fucking into his mouth. Quentin gags again, eyes watering, and again, until finally his throat goes slack. Tony holds himself there, until Quentin’s vision starts spotting. Tony pulls out. Quentin gasps in a desperate breath, coughing, but Tony doesn’t wait, just shoves back into Quentin’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face is hot and tears stream down his cheeks, but Quentin feels like he’s floating. He idly wonders if it’s the lack of oxygen. Tony uses his mouth, and all Quentin can do is moan around him, swallow, and gag, and take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stick your tongue out,” Tony says roughly after what feels like hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin obeys, opening his mouth, tongue out. He closes his eyes, it’s enough to hear Tony jerking himself off over his face. The first drops land on his tongue, and Quentin knows better than to close his mouth to try to swallow. Hot come stripes his cheeks, his forehead, a lot of it landing in his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Swallow,” Tony says. Quentin does. He blinks up at Tony through a haze, come clinging to his eyelashes. Tony uses his thumb to wipe Quentin’s eyes clean. “You’re so fucking pretty when you get like this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin preens under Tony’s gaze, licking at his lower lip. His whole body feels warm and loose. Something’s happened to him, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much because the way Tony’s looking at him makes fire race up his belly and chest, into his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you didn’t come from that alone,” Tony says, voice low and smooth. “But you’re hard again, and I don’t think it will be difficult to get to five orgasms now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony slides something cool and hard into Quentin’s ass, presses it up against his prostate, making him jerk, and keen. He shudders, stares at the ceiling trying to get his head right, trying to make himself think about anything other than Tony, other than getting off, or being fucked. Each thought, each attempt disappears like smoke, his mind empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at me,” Tony says, amused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin tilts his head, meets Tony’s eyes where he’s lying down between Quentin’s legs. When did he get there? Tony licks over Quentin’s balls, his tongue wet, hot, a shock after not being touched for so long. His thighs twitch, try to close, but Tony wedges his shoulders between Quentin’s legs, keeping them open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep your eyes on me,” Tony says, mouth curving up. “I want you to see how good you taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Tony’s tongue teases at his cockhead, flicks over the slit, Quentin’s world narrows further. The room could catch on fire and he would burn with it. Tony’s so good with his mouth he can make Quentin moan with a kiss. Having that attention on his cock? It’s phenomenal. Quentin tries to keep in his noises, but he can’t stop making these hitching moans, can’t stop whimpering as Tony toys with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin jerks, hard, fucking up into Tony’s mouth acidentally when something buzzes against his prostate. His chest is tight, he can’t fucking breathe in order to moan. The thing keeps buzzing, vibrating endlessly, making Quentin arch and ball his hands into fists so hard his nails dig into his palms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stops for a breathless moment, but Quentin’s skin still feels like it’s buzzing. Tony sucks him down, lips tight, mouth wet and swollen and Quentin hasn’t taken his eyes off Tony, he can’t, not when Tony’s like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The toy buzzes against his prostate again and Quentin howls, hips bucking uncontrollably until Tony pins him down. He twists, and tears prickle the corners of his eyes. It’s too much, his thighs shake, and the world whites out as he comes down Tony’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony grabs his chin, smashes their mouths together. Warm, salty come hits his tongue, is shoved into his mouth. Quentin groans, swallows it, but can’t help that some leaks out, that it smears in Tony’s goatee, leaving strands between them when Tony pulls away, panting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just can’t help it, can you?” Tony murmurs, thumb digging into Quentin’s chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at Tony, dazed, feeling disconnected. What did Tony ask? Is he supposed to answer?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He forces the word out. Did he slur it? How is he drunk off of sex? It doesn’t make sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t help being such a perfect slut,” Tony says. “Open your mouth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin doesn’t hesitate, opening his mouth. That shivery hot feeling is back, the one that makes him feel like he has a fever, like he’s going to be sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony stares at him, searching his face, but Quentin doesn’t know what for. Nothing makes sense anymore, he’s just a body, just Tony’s for the taking. Tony slides his thumb up from Quentin’s chin, into his mouth, pressing down against his bottom teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spits in Quentin’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin jerks, startled. The shivery hot feeling intensifies, his gut clenching. He doesn’t know what to think, what to do, just stares at Tony in shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re so far under I could do whatever I wanted to you,” Tony says, wondering and pleased. “None of that stubborn rebellion now, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin feels sick to his stomach. He should be fighting back, shouldn’t he? Tony just spit in his mouth. Tony is </span>
  <em>
    <span>degrading </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. He shouldn’t stand for it, shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. The word bounces around his empty head. When he blinks, tears spill down the side of his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony leans back, pushing Quentin’s legs open wider. He gently pulls the toy out of Quentin, fingers playing with his loose hole, sliding in and out. It makes Quentin’s stomach jerk, makes him close his eyes and try to hold his body still. This is too much, more than he wanted, why is he still here?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you all warmed up and ready for my cock?” Tony says playfully. “I know that’s what you’ve really been desperate for this whole time.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin moans weakly, horrified deep down that his immediate response was yes, fuck yes he wants Tony inside him, filling up this empty space. He doesn’t want to tell Tony that, he’ll never tell Tony that. Even half out of his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony grins, and then just… plays with him: runs his hands up Quentin’s body and down again, kissing his skin, randomly biting at him, pinching at him, alternating between soft touches and shocking pain. It lulls Quentin into a rhythm, until he’s arching into each touch, hissing at the bites, moaning as his cock fills slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should record you,” Tony murmurs against his neck. “Make you watch it back, so you can see, so you can understand what I see.” Tony leans back, his hands sliding down Quentin’s body, gripping his ass and spreading him with both hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his hips without a thought, lifting his knees to his chest. Tony grins, something about his expression reminds Quentin of a wolf. It makes Quentin shiver, makes his mouth go dry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get why you’d be afraid of people seeing this,” Tony says. Quentin absorbs Tony’s words like a punch; it feels like he fell from a great height, or one of those nightmares where you fall and jerk awake in bed. It’s exactly like that, the same nauseated feeling, the vague unreality. “If people could see what a perfect cockslut you are, they’d want to take advantage, they’d realize you won’t say no. You’d let them do anything when you’re like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shakes his head, tears spilling down his face. He can’t form words because Tony’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he keeps letting Tony take him apart because deep down he wants it, he wants to be taken and fucked and used. Even though he feels disgusted with himself he wants Tony to fuck him. He needs Tony to fuck him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Tony purrs. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll give you everything you want. No one else will have you like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Tony slides into him with one smooth thrust, filling him perfectly. Quentin throws his head back and a moan is pushed from his chest. He wraps his legs around Tony, heels digging into his back to keep him inside. It sort of works because Tony just grinds into him, barely fucking him. It becomes perfect when Tony leans over him, pressing the weight of his hips into Quentin, forcing himself deeper. His cock is a blunt pressure on Quentin’s prostate, and then he starts fucking in short sharp motions that jostle Quentin’s whole body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s cock rubs against Tony’s stomach, and that’s all it takes to send him soaring, jerking and clenching around the thickness inside. Tony moans, swears, pumps his hips and then stills, gritting his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, who’d have thought you’d still be this tight,” Tony says between clenched teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin goes limp, turns his face to the side smearing come and tears along his arm. He’s been wrung dry and there’s nothing left inside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s still hard, still filling him, pressing him down. Tony starts moving again, fucking him slow and deep, pulling out more now that Quentin’s legs have fallen open. It’s easy to stay limp, unresisting, and Quentin keeps his face hidden in his arm. He jerks with each thrust, oversensitive, making high pitched noises he didn’t even know he could make. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin floats, letting Tony use him however he wants. It doesn’t matter that he can’t take it anymore, doesn’t matter that all he wants is to cling and cry. All that matters is how Tony wants him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So good for me,” Tony says, quieter. “I’m going to fuck you through to orgasm five, handsome. Can you give me another one?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin whines, blinks through his tears to see Tony’s face. He’s got a softer expression, eyes warm and liquid. Tony kisses him, and that’s soft too. It’s nice. Quentin tilts his head back hopefully and Tony kisses him again, warm, enveloping, all consuming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you come for me again, baby,” Tony says, running his hands up Quentin’s arms, brushing over the skin right under the cuffs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin finds himself nodding. There was a reason he shouldn’t come again, but everything’s gone unfocused and soft. He doesn’t know what noises he makes or what he does, he just knows that Tony fucks him deep and hard and slow until he’s sobbing, until every breath, touch, kiss is too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Quentin begs, but he’s not even sure what for. He only knows that Tony can stop it, fix it, make it better. The cuffs clank against each other and Quentin wishes he could hold onto something, hold onto Tony, a pillow, anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony growls, presses a hand to Quentin’s throat, just under his collar. Quentin’s breath hitches on a sob, his cock is somehow hard again, throbbing. The pressure on his throat, the slow cut-off of his breathing makes Quentin’s head swim. He shudders, hot all over; then his hips jerk, his whole body pulses as he comes, barely more than a few drops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony groans and stills. Quentin imagines he can feel the hot rush of come, can feel Tony’s cock pulsing inside him, but it’s probably his own heartbeat, loud in his ears as Tony’s hand doesn’t move. Quentin’s vision starts spotting and then the pressure is gone. He sucks in a breath, and it comes out a sob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did so good, you did great, Quentin,” Tony murmurs, kissing over his face. Quentin squeezes his eyes shut, he can’t stop crying, feels sick to his stomach with shame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His arms hit the bed. It takes him far too long to realize that means he’s been untied. Quentin’s shoulders ache, but he needs to hold onto something, this floating awfulness has him in it’s grip and he’s afraid he’ll float away with it if he doesn’t hold onto something. He grabs onto Tony’s shoulders, clings, circling his arms around Tony’s neck. He needs to hide so no one can see him like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh, you’re okay, you’re wonderful, you’re so good for me,” Tony says softly, almost cooing at him. Some of the shame burns off in that warmth. He did good. He did what Tony wanted. Why does he feel so awful then? Tony whispers other things to him, cradles him close, pets his hair until Quentin has calmed somewhat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to get something to clean you up, alright?” Tony cups his cheek, makes Quentin look at him. He still feels weird, off-kilter, not quite right. There’s a sense of unreality to everything. There’s no way he let himself be used like that, talked down to the way Tony had. Tony kisses him gently, but it still stings his lips somewhat. He must have bit his lip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony steps away. Quentin doesn’t have the energy to sit up. He curls onto his side, feeling sticky and disgusting. He moves his arms slowly, like he’s moving through water, curling them around his torso, the cuffs cool and solid against his chest. Quentin starts to shiver, sniffles, finds that he can’t stop. If he moves he feels like he’ll be sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Tony’s voice is soft. He sits on the side of the bed, his hands gentle on Quentin’s face, wiping away the come and tears. “That was a little more intense for you, huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is he supposed to respond? He blinks at Tony, sighs when Tony cups the back of his head, leaning into that touch. Quentin still can’t stop shivering, but there’s a prickle of warmth starting at the crown of his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony carefully cleans him up, the towel warm, damp, and soft against his skin. Everything felt hot only a little while ago, why does he feel so cold now? He closes his eyes, lets the different sensations wash over him, tries to just feel, rather than focusing on the jumble of feelings that seem to be bubbling to the surface.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could he let Tony say those things to him? Worse, he thinks some part of him liked it, or at the very least his body liked it. Fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin keeps his eyes closed. Maybe if he keeps his eyes shut he can ignore everything that just happened, he can pretend Tony didn’t just rip him apart. If he doesn’t look he can’t see the way Tony is bundling him close, pulling the blanket over them both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wrists, please,” Tony says gently. Quentin still has his arms wrapped around himself, hands tucked tight against his side. He hesitates, but gingerly unfolds himself a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin finally opens his eyes when he offers up his wrists. Tony presses down and holds his thumb on a small glowing panel similar to Quentin’s collar. The cuff falls open, slipping off his wrist and onto the bed. Tony repeats the process on his other arm, then sets both on the bedside table. When he turns back to Quentin, his eyes are soft and warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony takes his wrists gently, rubbing his thumb over Quentin’s pulse point. There are little red indents under his hand and further up on his arm, an outline of the cuffs. Tony smoothes his thumb over those places, takes one wrists in both hands and massages it. Quentin watches his hands work, blunt fingernails, little white scars standing out along his knuckles. He has to focus on these details to keep from thinking about how gentle Tony is being with him, how he’s acting like he cares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does anything hurt,” Tony asks. He switches to massaging Quentin’s other wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin shakes his head. Words feel beyond him at the moment. If he opens his mouth this strange feeling will spill out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Tony says. He tucks Quentin’s arms between them and cradles him close. He cups the back of Quentin’s head and softly guides his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. His skin is warm, and he smells of salt and musk with the barest hint of cologne still clinging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows, finds himself burrowing into Tony, uncurling his arms to wrap them around Tony in return. He’s warmer now, but his head still doesn’t feel right. It’s like a sex hangover, and he’s felt this before, but never quite so intense, or for so long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did beautifully,” Tony murmurs, kissing behind his ear. Quentin shivers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He must fall asleep at some point because the next thing he knows is sunlight on his face. Quentin squints at the open curtains and turns away, hiding his face in the pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must have really tired you out last night,” Tony’s voice startles him out of the pillow. He’s standing by the door, in a full suit and tie, blue tinted sunglasses on. “Never seen you sleep through an alarm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Quentin pushes himself to sit up and rubs his eyes. He’s not a morning person, and it is way too early for banter. “Am I late?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I think your boss can make an exception,” Tony says with a laugh. Quentin blinks at him, watches warily as Tony saunters to the bed. “It’s worth it to come back from a boring meeting and find you still naked in my bed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin opens his mouth to say something, but Tony climbs on the bed on his knees, bracketing Quentin’s leg with his own. He traces a finger along Quentin’s jaw, tipping his chin up, and then Tony’s lips are on his, gentle and warm. That shivery feeling overtakes him quicker this time. He kisses Tony back, pushes up against his mouth until Tony’s the one to lean back, smirking at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why on earth, does he have the urge to kiss that smirk off Tony’s mouth? Why does he want to pull on Tony’s tie, tug him down in the bed and rumple him? Quentin swallows and turns his head away, feeling queasy. What’s happening to him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should get dressed,” Quentin says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know… you might serve your boss better staying in bed,” Tony says playfully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin manages to untangle himself from the blankets, from Tony. Standing up makes him realize how sore he is, not just his ass, but his muscles: arms, chest, ribs, hips. He stretches, gets a wolf whistle from Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have projects that need my attention,” Quentin says, trying for cold, but he thinks he misses the mark. “I’m more than just a fuck-toy.” He doesn’t look at Tony as he makes his way to the closet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you are a fuck-toy,” Tony calls after him with a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin can feel something like a meltdown brewing in his head. Something he doesn’t understand is happening, this whole collar thing is more than he expected, more than he thought he was getting. He pulls on some clothes quickly; he’ll shower downstairs in one of the decontamination chambers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he needs is to get out of here as quickly as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin blows through the bedroom, is almost out of the apartment when Tony catches him by the arm. He stops, turns to Tony with that void of shame growing bigger at the way Tony looks at him, eyes him up and down and then raises an eyebrow at his obvious lack of a shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I made some coffee,” Tony says, pressing a mug into Quentin’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Quentin says. He almost believes Tony won’t let him go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony moves one hand to the back of Quentin’s neck and tucks his thumb under the band of the collar as he curls his palm around Quentin’s nape. It presses the collar against the front of his throat uncomfortably, makes his breath hitch. Tony leans in, kisses him deeply until there’s no breath in his lungs and he has to gasp, but he can’t pull away because Tony’s hands there, and Tony’s still kissing him, kissing the breath right out of his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Tony pulls away, unhooking his thumb from the collar. “Our vacation is next month, already scheduled it, so you’d better think of where you’d like to go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin licks his lips, hates the way he’s panting, hates how he’s already hard. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony steps back. “Come back up when you take your lunch,” Tony says. It sounds like an invitation, but it’s an order. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s stomach flips. “Okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something in Tony’s expression that makes him have to repress a shiver. Quentin gives him a quick nod, takes his coffee, and steps into the elevator. Once the doors close, he presses himself into the corner, closes his eyes tight, and squeezes the warm mug in his hands. Part of him wants it to break, wants to pour hot coffee over his front and slice his hands up, but it doesn’t, it stays solid, dependable, and smells really good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has work to do, projects to get off the ground that he’ll stun and impress the world with. That is what he needs to focus on right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time the elevator arrives at his lab’s floor, Quentin has put himself back together.</span>
</p>
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